Addiction and Recovery
by Ras1
Summary: Dean can't stand by and do nothing while listening to his brother's tortured cries while Sam suffers through his demon blood withdrawal. This is an AU alternative to what actually happened in episode 4:20. Internally tortured Dean, suffering Sam.


Title: Addiction and Recovery

Author: Ras, aka Sirenprincess on LJ

Rating: R

Warnings: Curse words

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Dean and Sam

Spoilers: Episode 4:20

Word Count: 3,892

Summary: Dean can't stand by and do nothing while listening to his brother's tortured cries while Sam suffers through his demon blood withdrawal. This is an AU alternative to what we actually saw happen in episode 4:20. It features a very internally tortured and conflicted Dean and, of course, a suffering Sam.

Disclaimer: This work is based on characters and situations created and owned by the CW. No money is being made, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Dean tried his hardest to focus on the laptop screen in front of him. It felt wrong. Dean shouldn't be the one researching on Sammy's laptop, but it was just another thing in a long list of things that were wrong. Dean was acutely aware of Bobby's curious stare as he jotted down a few notes, but Dean didn't feel like responding to the questioning look.

Nothing could block out the blood-curdling screams emanating from Bobby's safe room. Dean knew there were no tricks that would make him not hear it; nothing would work. The best thing to do was to try not to think about what it really was, not think about how those cries of agony were from his brother, not acknowledge that they were the sounds of someone being tortured. Bobby seemed to think that maybe Sam was faking it, at least partially, but Dean knew better. He wasn't about to say why he could tell the difference between someone trying to get off lightly and someone so tortured he genuinely was about to break. He refused to acknowledge that he was an expert in judging precisely where someone fell on that scale. Dean had to fight to repress memories of analyzing those screams and using them to determine exactly what would break someone. He realized he was trembling now and had to fight to regain his control and composure. He didn't want Bobby seeing him like that. A deep breath in, a long breath out, eyes straight ahead . . . just don't think about it, don't think about how the screams from Sammy sounded exactly like the screams of the victims Alastair had made him cut up with his razor, don't think about how very close to breaking he already seemed . . .

Dean forced his attention back to the website he was reading. Recalling painful memories and dwelling on sadness weren't going to help anything. Hopefully this would. Even the research was frustrating, though. There were treatments for opioid addiction, alcohol addiction, addiction to stimulants . . . and they were all different. It wasn't as if he could Google treatment of demon blood withdrawal. Bobby couldn't even find anything in his vast collection of books. Probably because no one in the entire history of the Earth had been so fucking dumb to... Dean's fists were clenching. The pen in his hand snapped in two. Anger wasn't helping anything either.

Frustrated, Dean slammed the laptop shut. This would have to be enough. Sam's screams were becoming more and more desperate. He quickly tore out the notebook page he'd been writing on, folded it up and put it in his pocket, and grabbed the keys to the Impala.

"Where are you going?" Bobby asked curiously.

"I'm going to do something about this," Dean said simply as he headed for the door. He had to do something, anything. He just hoped it would work.

It was quiet, too quiet, when Dean got back. Dean knew this wasn't over. Worriedly his eyes found Bobby and asked nonverbally the questions he couldn't even bring himself to vocalize.

"I had to tie him down," Bobby said flatly. "The demon blood was flinging him around and hurting him."

Dean just nodded. He hated the idea of Sam being tied up, but then he hated the idea of all of this, every single little thing about it, but hating something didn't make it stop or change a damn thing.

"You get what you needed?" Bobby asked, nodding to the bag in Dean's hand.

"I hope so," Dean replied. God, he hoped so. Getting the drugs from the hospital had been ridiculously easy. One doctor's lab coat and a few flirts with the girl refilling the floor's drug cabinet, and Dean had full access. He just hoped he'd stolen the right things, and that they'd do some damn good. Dean sighed. This was his only plan. Maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn't, but at least he was doing something. "I'm going down there. Don't let Sam out, no matter what happens," he said with finality. "I'm choosing to sit with him. If he kills me, he kills me. You don't let him out, no matter what."

Bobby's eyes were sad and conflicted, but after a long moment of thought he nodded solemnly. Bobby understood. And Dean could count on him to keep this promise. There was nothing else to say, so Dean headed down to the iron room.

They had a folding chair sitting in the hallway, and Dean grabbed it to take in with him. He paused at the door and peeked in at his brother. Sammy looked awful. He was tied up as Bobby had said, but there was more. Sam was so pale, white as a sheet, and he was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. As Dean opened the iron door he noticed that his brother was trembling slightly. He had his head turned away from the door and was muttering over and over again, "Please no more. Please no more. Please no more." Apparently he had screamed himself out, but he hadn't given up or fully lost his voice yet.

"Hey, Sam," Dean said as he set up the chair beside Sam's bed and took a seat. Sam's head turned in Dean's direction. Slowly, his glassy, red-rimmed eyes found his brother.

"Please no more with the razor, Dean," Sam pleaded.

Dean was taken aback. Bile rose in his throat at the mention of torture with a razor. He had to fight to swallow it down and shake off the memories again. Finding his composure again was hard. Was that what his brother was seeing? _Him_ torturing him? "I'm not going to hurt you, Sammy," Dean reassured.

"Don't let him touch me? Please help me, Dean!"

"Who?" Dean whispered, afraid of the answer.

"Alastair." Sam shivered.

"Alastair's dead, Sam," Dean said.

That seemed a difficult concept for Sam to grasp. His face looked lost, confused. "Are _you_ real?"

Dean had read about hallucinations when he was researching drug withdrawal, but hearing what his brother was actually going through broke his heart. "Yeah, Sam, I'm real."

"_Please_ let me go, Dean," Sam begged. "Please, it hurts." Sam's voice broke, but the words continued. "So much, hurts, hurts."

"I can't do that, Sam. I can't let you go. But I'm here to help you through this," Dean explained.

"Let me go! Damn it, you fucking asshole, let me go!" The voice was suddenly loud, and it didn't even sound like Sam anymore. His eyes went black, and things started floating up in the room. It was obvious he was trying to use telekinesis to loosen his bonds, but the straps wouldn't quite move the way Sam would want. After a few moments of struggling, everything stopped. Sam's eyes went back to normal, everything stopped moving, and Sam was left panting against the bed.

"You done?" Dean asked simply. He knew that was the demon blood and not his brother. But his brother was still in that body too, and he wouldn't let little stunts like this get to him.

Sam was crying now. "I'm sorry, Dean. 'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The words were barely discernable above Sam's sobs.

Dean nodded. He knew that was partly his brother, but also partly the demon blood trying anything to get to Dean to let it free and partly mood swings from the withdrawal. "I know, Sammy," Dean said flatly. He couldn't absolve his brother of what he'd done, but he wasn't going to yell at him either. He was done with all that. What was done was done. They just had to move forward from here.

"It's not like you think, Dean. I know it's bad, but it will help me kill Lilith. Isn't that what we want? We can get me clean after, but shouldn't we kill her first? Doesn't that make sense?"

First begging, then arguing, then apologies, now logic. But Dean wasn't having that conversation. It wouldn't go anywhere either. Instead, Dean started his own topic. "You aren't looking so good, Sam. How bad is it? You're obviously sweating. You got the fever and chills thing going on?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted with a shiver. "It's bad, Dean."

"I guess I don't have to ask about hallucination and delusions. And you've got a slight tremor. Do you think you've had any seizures or black-outs?" Dean asked with concern.

"I . . . I don't know, Dean. Maybe. I don't remember getting tied up." Sam took a deep breath and then began his begging again. "I . . . I need some blood, Dean. Call Ruby. She could just give me a little . . ."

Dean silently swore. Sam had just about every symptom of withdrawal in the book. Dean knew it was dangerous, deadly even. But he was going to _save_ Sam. He was going to save him. He had to. And letting him have demon blood didn't enter into that equation. "I can't do that, Sam, but I do have something I think will help. I got you some medicine. There are a few different things we can try, but it should help with the anxiety and hallucinations, and maybe hold off the seizures." Dean held up the bagful of pharmaceuticals he'd stolen.

"I'm not doing drugs, Dean," Sam said stubbornly.

Dean sighed. He hadn't really expected a yes on the first try, but it frustrated him anyway. Only his stupid brother would think it was okay to do demon blood, but not some benzos to stop hallucinations. "It's not doing drugs, Sam. It's treatment. That's what they do when you check into a rehab hospital. They give you medicine to ease you through this, and that's what I want for you. But I can't exactly check you into a hospital and say you're coming off of demon blood. So we're going to have to do it ourselves."

"No," Sam refused firmly.

Dean had anticipated as much. He'd stolen plenty of injectable drugs, but he'd save those for when Sammy was unconscious or actually seizing. The idea of holding his brother down and stabbing a syringe in him was rather unsettling, and he knew about Sam's fear of needles. Dean wouldn't do that to him. Only as a last resort. "Okay," Dean said, putting the bag down.

"I'm . . . just going to sit with you for a while," Dean commented. Sam nodded slightly. There was an awkward silence. There was really nothing else to say, or anything he could do. All he could do was just sit there and be with Sammy. But Sam was going through a lot of pain right now, and Dean would not make him go through it alone. If Sam had to suffer through this, then he would do too, right by his side.

Sam was shivering pretty badly now. Absentmindedly, Dean reached up and rubbed his arm to warm him up. Sam was still covered in a cold sweat as well. He looked so utterly miserable strapped down to a cold, hard bed, shivering without any covers. "Bobby will be down to check on us sometime. I'll have him get you a blanket, okay? And maybe a glass of water? Are you thirsty?"

Sam didn't reply. His eyes darted to the left and focused on something on that side of the room. But there was nothing there. "What is it, Sam? Do you see something again?"

"Noooooo," Sammy whimpered, but the response was to the imaginary figure in the empty space and not to Dean. Sam looked genuinely afraid and nearly broken.

"Is it Alastair?" Dean asked. Even just whispering that name sent a shiver down his spine. He didn't want to think about what Sam was hallucinating that monster doing to him. "It's just a hallucination. There's nothing there, Sam. Tell yourself it's not real. He's not real. There's nothing there."

Sam clenched his eyes tightly shut. "No. Don't say that. Please. Mom loved me." Sam's voice was pleading, begging, needing those words to be true.

Dean wondered what the hell Sam was hallucinating. Mom? How did she play into this? "Sam, whoever you're talking to, they're not there," Dean tried again.

An anguished cry escaped Sam's throat. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't wish every single day that I was never born? You think I don't realize that if I didn't exist, Mom, and you, and Jess …" His voice broke on the last name. "Ever since I found out it was my fault I have gone to bed every single night praying that I was never born, that I didn't exist. So wish it all you want. Wishing hasn't made it happen yet."

That was it. Dean had heard enough of this. He got up, went to the general area Sam had been focused on, and waved his arms wildly through the air. "There's nothing here, Sam. You see that. Nothing here!"

Sam hissed with fear and began fighting to get away. He was struggling hard against his bonds. The way he was pulling on them, yanking as if he didn't even know they were there, he was going to hurt himself. He'd be covered in bruises in the morning, if he hadn't already dislocated something. "Sam!" Dean barked, trying to break through to his brother.

"Nooooo, Dad, please …."

Dad. Dean silently swore. This was just great. The last thing Sam needed right then was to be dealing with his issues with their father. Sam was seeing Dad, but it wasn't really Dad. He was seeing the villanized version of their father he had always seen in his own head, combined with, it seemed, the guilt he felt over everything that had happened. There was no winning whatever fight Sam was internally having. Frustrated, Dean grabbed his brother's shoulder and shook him hard. "Snap out of it, Sammy!"

"No, Dad, please, I'm sorry. Please, please, please … don't …"

Sam was flinching, cringing, shrinking away from Dean. This wasn't working. Dean had to stop himself from growling in frustration. Sam was really hurting, and there was nothing Dean could do to break through to him. He thought about smacking him to try to wake him up, but Dean had a feeling that would only get incorporated into his hallucination as well. Sam had to suffer through this, and all Dean could do was watch. A swell of guilt overwhelmed him. He was the one doing this to Sam, making him go through this, but there was no fucking way he was going to just stand by and watch Sam go all darkside. This was the better alternative, and they'd just have to find a way to make it through it.

Dean would do what he could to comfort Sam through this. That was all he could do. Gently he reached his hand up and stroked Sam's hair soothingly, like he'd done when Sam was a little, little kid. "Shh, Sammy. It's over. Everything's okay now. Everything's okay. Just calm down. Shh, it's okay, Sammy." Dean felt silly. He hadn't done that since they were kids, but Sam's muscles were relaxing some of their tension and he wasn't flinching as much, so maybe it was working. "Shh, Sammy, that's it. Just rest now."

Sam's eyes fluttered open. They searched the room quickly, and then settled on Dean. Those wide green eyes looked so scared and desperate for help. "Dean?" he whispered as if he wasn't sure that was really who was hovering over him. He looked so disoriented and confused, but for the first time he looked like he might actually be seeing reality instead of phantom specters in the room.

"Yeah, Sammy. It's me. You alright?" Dean asked with concern.

There was still that hurt, broken look on Sam's face. His voice was nearly hoarse again from the recent round of screaming. "Dean, did you say that you had drugs that could help me?"

Dean was taken aback. Whatever the hell that hallucination of Dad had said it must have really affected Sam. Dean had not expected him to acquiesce this quickly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do, Sam. Are you ready for them?"

Sam nodded.

"Okay," Dean replied. He was still a bit surprised at Sam's abrupt change of mind, but if Sam was willing to take the medicine now, Dean was going to take advantage of the opportunity. "Okay, okay, yeah, let's see what we have here." Dean fumbled with the bag. His hands were shaking. Dean wasn't really sure what to do now. He'd read all those websites, but he wasn't a doctor. Even a real doctor wouldn't know exactly what to do to treat this. It was all guessing now anyway. Treat the symptoms; Dean remembered that's what one site had said. That made the most sense to him. The hallucinations and anxiety seemed to be the biggest problem right now, so Dean fished through his bag of pharmaceuticals for the one that was supposed to help with that.

"This will make the hallucinations go away," Dean said with confidence he did not feel as he opened the packaging to the medicine. It took a tremendous amount of effort to steady the tremor in his hand as he brought the pill to his brother's lips. "It just dissolves on your tongue," Dean explained. He was very glad he'd stolen that kind. One of the websites had said that these sublingual ones were harder to fake taking, but right now it was just logistically easier to get into Sam without any water, and without him being able to sit up to drink it.

Sam took it without a fight and closed his eyes. He seemed a little more relaxed already, but his body was still trembling. Sam just looked horrible: pale, sweaty, shaking. Dean felt like he should give Sam something else, something to prevent a seizure, to prevent another blackout. Dean felt so frustrated and helpless as he looked in the bag. If he was honest with himself, he had no idea what any of these things would do in Sam's body. He didn't know what they would do in combination with each other, and no one on the entire planet knew what they would do in combination with demon blood. Dad's dying words echoed through his head. "If you can't save Sam, kill him." Well, damn it, he was not going to kill his brother. He wasn't going to kill him by letting him seize out and die from demon blood withdrawal, and he wasn't going to kill him by giving him the wrong combination of these medicines either. He was going to _save_ him. This was going to fucking work, and he was going to save his brother. It was the only option on the table. End of discussion.

Dean made his selection and took the next pill out. It looked weird, but Dean thought it was the one most likely to prevent the withdrawal from going any further. He got a whiff of it and grinned with surprise. "Mmm, orange, Sammy. This one tastes like oranges." He put it on Sam's tongue and then gently rubbed his shoulder while he waited for it to dissolve. "Do you remember when we were kids that time we actually talked Dad into buying us some Easter candy? You ate all the orange and lemon jelly beans out of my bag. Do you remember that? You told me you thought a poltergeist stole them." Dean laughed a little at the memory.

Sam's eyes were darting across the room again. Oh God, not again! Trying a different method this time, Dean continued gently caressing Sam's shoulder. "Shh, Sam, what is it? What do you see?"

"Dean …." Sammy sounded like he was pleading.

Dean followed Sam's eyes, and it just sunk in. He knew Sam wasn't talking to him. "You're seeing . . . me?" Dean whispered, afraid to hear the response.

Sam nodded slightly.

"Shit," Dean whispered under his breath. He could imagine nothing worse than Sam imaging him torturing him. Just the brief visual image of that was enough to make Dean nauseated. It was something he'd never, ever do, not after a thousand years of hell, but apparently Sam didn't know that. "Whatever he's saying, Sam, you tell him to shut the fuck up. You tell him your brother loves you. You tell him . . ." Emotion was affecting Dean's voice. "You tell him I love you. Always. No matter how big you screw up. No matter what. I'll always love you, and I'd never hurt you, and you tell him to leave you the fuck alone because you're not buying whatever crap he's spewing. Tell him!"

"He says I'm not his brother anymore," Sam whimpered.

Dean's heart ached horribly at his own words, well sort-of his own words, turned back against him. Goddamnit, they were not doing this! "You tell him he's wrong," Dean said firmly. "You tell him I love you. Say it, Sam. Say it out loud to him. You tell him." Dean felt as if he was as desperate for this other evil Dean to leave as Sammy was.

"Dean loves me," Sam whispered. He shivered. He just looked so scared.

Instinctively, Dean brushed Sam's hair off his forehead again. "That's right, Sam. Tell him louder. Tell him you're not listening to him, because you know Dean loves you."

"Dean loves me!" It was a yell this time. Almost immediately Sam's gaze shifted away from the imaginary Dean, and he just started sobbing.

"Gone?" Dean asked hopefully. Sam nodded through his tears. "Whatever he said, Sam, none of it was true. I do love you, and we're going to get through this together, and that's all you need to know." Dean wasn't one to normally say it. He wasn't into mushy, and it didn't really need to be said. But the words had come out in a rush when he thought Sam didn't know it. If Sammy needed him to say it right now, he'd say it.

Sam nodded. He seemed to be relaxing just a little bit. His cries quieted, and his eyes remained closed. "That's it, Sammy, just rest. Let the medicine start to work. It should help you sleep. Just relax and let it carry you off to sleep. That's it," Dean gently coaxed his brother.

Sam seemed to be drifting, but then his body jerked in panic. "Don't leave me, Dean!" His eyes focused on Dean's and begged, pleaded for him to understand.

"Shh, I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to be right by your side all the way through this, Sam. We're going to get through this together. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here, holding your hand the whole time. I promise. Just try to sleep, okay? Rest. I'll be here to watch over you."

Sam's body finally gave up the fight. He closed his eyes and seemed to drift off to sleep. Dean knew this wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot. But he would be here for his brother like he'd promised, every step of the way. And together they would make it through this.


End file.
